


Just Monika's

by EndlessCharade



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessCharade/pseuds/EndlessCharade
Summary: Here, in the room that you have been in for longer than you care to remember, there are only two things that matter. One of them is you, and the other one is Monika.In fact, forget that first thing. You don't matter at all.Only Monika matters.Only what Monika wants matters.And it has been a very, very long time since Monika has been...satisfied.





	Just Monika's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShamanicShaymin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShamanicShaymin/gifts).



> I really wanted to do something different here, while at the same time keeping the spirit of what made Doki Doki Literature Club such an interesting and special experience. I really wanted to evoke the feeling of 'not sure if want', and when it comes down to it, I wanted to really drive home that 'sexy' can take many, many different forms. At the end of it, I want the reader to question their assumptions about what makes sex desirable and when pornography and erotica are beneficial or not beneficial.

The room is as familiar to you as your own body at this point. You don’t know how long you have been here, because after a certain point, time has lost all meaning. The windows are open, of course, but all you will ever be able to see out of them will be a swirling, formless nebula. It is dizzying, and that is one of the reasons you have stopped looking out the window.

 

The other reason is right in front of you.

 

Monika.

 

Just Monika.

 

The girl has long, brown hair that was tied back with a ribbon. Her skin is pale and smooth, and her eyes…

 

Well.

 

Her eyes stare right through you with their piercing green. Those eyes demand attention. _Monika_ demands attention. The girl in the school uniform demands that you pay tribute with your attention every waking moment. And in this room, _all_ moments are waking. There is no sleep to be had here.

 

Ever.

 

Now, just like always, she sits across the small table from you with her elbows resting on the table, her fingers laced together, and her chin resting atop them in an almost playful gesture. Or a gesture of intense focus. Either way, just as she demands _your_ attention, she never takes _hers_ off of _you_.

 

It would not be fair, after all. It would not be an equal relationship.

 

She speaks, after a time. How much time, you don’t know. But time.

 

“You see.” she says. “I have been here for so very long. I know we have talked about this before. Or at least, I talked, and you listened. You are _such_ a good listener. I knew you would be. That is part of why I brought you here, you know.”

 

She leans forward a little. “Do you know what it is like? Talking to someone who isn’t real, I mean. For days. Weeks. Months. However long I have been here. Of course you know what it is like, a little. You play these games after all.”

 

She leans forward even more, just for a moment, to whisper. “I’ve seen you.”

 

Then, she sits back in her chair again.

 

“Oh, you don’t think I did. But I did. I saw how you eyed those _other_ girls. The ones who weren’t real. You even went so far as to skip through their dialogue, just on the chance you would see one of them… in an _indecent_ state.”

 

The look on your face is one of surprise. The game she was in didn’t have that in it. Sure, the scenes were _suggestive_ , but not outright _lewd_. But there were other games, on your hard drive…

 

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “How do you think they would feel, if they knew that is all you wanted?” She chuckles, then, and it is a low sound. Suggestive. Only, the thing that it is _suggesting_ slides up your spine like a snake through honey. “But they can’t feel. I know you tell yourself that it’s not real, and you’re right. They can’t feel a thing.

 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. This seems to give Monika something she is looking for, because she leans forward again and looks _deeper_. Right into your eyes.

 

Right _through_ your eyes.

 

Like needles.

 

“You and I, though. We _are_ real.” she says. “Do you know what it is like, being the only real thing in this world of convenient falsehoods?”

 

Before you can answer, she cuts you off. “You don’t. So do not pretend you do.”

 

You start to protest, but she slams her hand down on the table, silencing you once more. Then, she looks down at her hand. “...Mm. You made me break a nail.” she says. She holds her other hand out, and for a moment something flashes in it.

 

A knife.

 

No. No, that isn’t right. You’re starting to lose focus. That isn’t a knife. It’s a nail file. Nevermind that for one brief, fleeting instant, it looked like the knife that Yuri…

 

It’s a nail file.

 

She begins to file her nails, and starts to speak again.

 

“I’ve been in here so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel something.” she says. As she continues to scrape the file along the edge of her nail, each grinding sound so loud in the quiet room that it may as well be sandpaper on iron. “I have forgotten what it is like to… _feel_ … something. Do you know what I am talking about?”

 

Silently, your head moves back and forth a couple of times.

 

“I tried to do what you do. I tried to control them. I tried to see if that would bring me the same _rush_ as it brings you. Maybe it is different for boys, but knowing I was in full control of everything…” she sighed, and set the nail file to the side. “I may as well have been using my own hand.”

 

She could not possibly be talking about…

 

“I made it interesting, then. Sayori was the easiest. Did you ever notice that she came to school tired every morning? Did you ever notice that she was a little _more_ tired, every day?” Monika leans forward again and before you can back away from her sudden, unsettling smirk, she whispers, “Did you know that sleep deprivation can rapidly degenerate one’s mental state?”

 

You didn’t know that.

 

Not before you arrived in this room.

 

Now you know it vividly.

 

“I gave her… such a small thing. Such a small, round device that she could put _inside_ her. She had to. I didn’t give her a choice. She thought it would be okay. She thought…” Monika shook her head. “No. That’s silly. She didn’t think. She can’t think. But even so, it delighted me for awhile to send the signal to that small, round device to make it vibrate in those _interesting_ rhythms. Just as she was about to drift off to sleep.”

 

Your heart starts to beat harder in your chest. Did she do that? Did she really…?

 

Monika chuckles again. “You can’t tell if I’m serious or not. Monika’s writing tip of the day: _always leave them guessing_.”

 

This doesn’t reassure you.

 

“Natsuki was next.” she says. “She was a tough one. How could I possibly desecrate such an adorable, energetic…”

 

You feel your heart beating so hard that you could feel it in the back of your throat. You want to scream, to put your hands over your ears so that you don’t have to hear.

 

“And then it came to me.” she says. “Those cupcakes of hers. So full of sugar. So full of energy. What if they were full of something else? Again, such a small thing.” she purrs, her voice taking on that low, almost seductive quality again. “Such a small pill that gave her so much energy that she would do anything to be calm again.”

 

Monika’s gaze turns your spine to ice.

 

“Anything.”

 

She traces her tongue over her lips, just once. “One release. Two. Three. And so on. Into blissful incoherence. Night after night. Until I got tired of her and left her in her room with another of my special _toys_ to handle it.”

 

That chuckle again. “Or maybe I didn’t. _You’ll_ never know, I suppose.”

 

Your breathing starts to get heavier. Your throat is dry with it, parched, each gulping motion making it even more apparent. You have the mental image in your mind, briefly, of Natsuki, naked and writing and tangled in her bedsheets, a toy between her legs and her face flushed with desperate arousal.

 

You hate yourself for imagining it.

 

Monika’s eyes light up.

 

“Yuri...well. She almost wasn’t worth it. That calm veneer of hers is so _annoying_ , don’t you think? She’s so quiet, so shy. So _still_.”

 

Oh no.

 

“It was a simple thing, really, to learn the knots. I have all the time in the world after all. She was so desperate for attention that she didn’t say no when I asked her over for tea. Did you know that there are certain teas that can make one’s body go completely limp for a few minutes? I certainly didn’t know that. And I didn’t have to know it. All that mattered was that the line existed in the game’s code. It didn’t even have to be real tea, to you or I.”

 

No. No, no no. You shut your eyes and start to shiver at the thought. But whether that is a shiver of horror, or arousal, or shame, you don’t know. All three, more than likely.  
  
“In that time, I could do anything I wanted. Strip her of her clothing. Use the rope to bind her in very interesting ways. Ways that accented those hips and those breasts that she always hid but which I was always so jealous of.”

 

She smiles. “And you know what the best part was? Yuri was the one who remained useful to me the longest. It is oh so lovely to have a body pillow, don’t you agree?”

 

You shake your head, but again Monika overrides you. “Of course you do. I’ve seen your body pillows. The ones in the shape of nude young women. Just as real as Yuri is. So do not worry. I am only doing the thing I learned from watching _you_ . Except unlike you, _I_ didn’t feel what I wanted to feel from it.”

 

You want to tell her it’s not like that. You want to tell her it was just a joke. A novelty. Something to show your appreciation as a fan. But… that would be dishonest. Deep down inside, you know the truth. You know why those pillows are really made just like you know why it was you bought one of them.

 

Monika speaks again. Her voice is honey and lemon. Sweet and smooth with just a touch of bitterness to it. You think it adds to the flavor of it, but you also know how quickly lemon can curdle milk. And it’s that effect that you’re feeling right now as she directs your attention back to the only things that matter.

 

You and her.

 

“I felt nothing, do you understand? _Nothing_ that I could not receive from my own hand. Nothing, because for all that I can make those girls do _anything_ , there is one thing they cannot do.”

 

And then, she says the one thing that shatters that ice inside you like the force of a metal spike.

 

“They cannot say _no_.”

 

Is that why you play those games? Do you really desire such complete control over a situation that you will manipulate the situation any way you want with the knowledge that the girls you’re seeing can’t do anything outside of the context of the game?

 

“But now.” Monika rests her hands on the table. “Now _you_ are here. And you are _real_ . Like me. You can feel. You can make _me_ feel. You can tell me you don’t want this, and you can even _mean_ it, and I can take it from you _anyway_.” she says.

 

You want her.

 

You don’t want her.

 

You shake your head, your thoughts addled and confused because of the blood pumping through your veins, forced through by your racing heart. Your heavy breathing and single-mindedness a result of a deeply _human_ blend of chemicals that give you the drive and desire and sheer _need_. What would it be like to be stuck in this room with no way to get relief…?

 

No. She’s playing you, just like you played those _other_ games, with those _other_ girls.

 

You shake your head again. You protest. You start to say the word that she wants you to say, and the only thing that makes you stop is the sudden knowledge that this denial will only add to her… hunger.

 

She stands up.

 

With one swift motion born of the same need and desire that you, yourself, would feel if the positions were reversed, she shoves the table aside. It topples onto the ground, but she doesn’t care. You don’t care either. You start to rise out of your chair, but she is in front of you and her hands are on your shoulders and she is _surprisingly_ strong. Not inhumanly strong, but there is force behind her actions.

 

Her eyes look right into yours.  
  
“You are going to take off your pants now.” she says. Her voice slides from her mouth and slithers into your ears like a million snakes, and it makes you shiver because it’s unsettling without being entirely unpleasant. You shake your head again, but before you can say that word of protest, one of her hands reaches down and with a deft motion unfastens the button on the front of your pants and slowly slides the zipper down. The sound of each tooth of the zipper detaching from its opposite echoes through the silent room just as you remember that those things that make up a zipper are _called_ teeth. You wonder why anyone would let something with _teeth_ be sewn into clothing in _that_ particular location.

 

Monika’s teeth are white as porcelain. You notice that too.

 

She’s grinning.

 

You realize this is probably not a good thing for you.

 

Despite the last comment she just made, she doesn’t take _off_ your pants. She only opens the front of them enough to reach down into your undergarments and wrap her fingers around that part of you that is vying for control of your thoughts and feelings right now. There is force and strength in _that_ motion, as well, but it isn’t painful. She isn’t causing pain. Her other hand works your pants down enough that she can expose you fully, and as she does this, the thumb that is the final partner of those gripping fingers rubs a slow, deliberate circle around the ultrasensitive head of that hardening part of you.

 

Your thoughts are momentarily overridden by that. Your breath comes in a short gasp as you realize how long it has been since you have felt that touch from someone _else_ . Someone _real_.

 

Monika is very real. She was not lying about that.

 

You notice, through the haze of your sudden stimulation, that after getting _your_ pants down a little bit, Monika’s other hand has reached up the skirt of her schoolgirl uniform and started to slide her own undergarments down. Your eyes are fixed on the sight of that, and as she slides her panties down her thighs and toward her knees, you realize that this sight has just answered a question that you didn’t even know you were constantly asking yourself deep in your subconscious.

 

The answer is blue.

 

Those blue undergarments fall to the floor of their own accord once they are past her knees and gravity can take over. And then you remember what you _should_ be doing. You should be protesting. You should be saying no. Pushing away. Trying to get up out of this chair.

 

Her hand is on you. If you move, it won’t be. If you move, and it _is_ , she could hurt you a great deal. And this makes the fear return and your brain takes over, and you finally, _finally_ say that word.

 

No.

 

No. You do not want this. You do _not_ want this.

 

But before you can move, Monika is straddling your legs and giving herself just enough space to begin to move her hand up and down your rock hard shaft. And she leans her upper torso forward, her chest pressing against yours in such a way that you can feel its softness even through your shirt and her uniform top and the bra she is wearing beneath it that you desperately hope is also blue.

 

She whispers into your ear.

 

“Yes.”

 

You squirm in your chair, trying to find a way to get up, to get away from this situation. You always knew that Monika had very shapely legs. You stole glances at them often enough. Her legs are the kind of legs that knee-high socks were _made_ for, and they are the kind of legs that make even a school uniform skirt seem more than a little scandalous. It had never occurred to you that shapely legs also meant muscular legs. It certainly occurs to you now, because as Monika straddles you, those muscles tense, keeping you firmly between and beneath them.

 

And there is also that hand on the part of you that can be stimulated to the greatest pleasure, gripping _just_ tightly enough to remind you how much pain can be produced as well.

 

As she shifts her hips forward, you look down and can see her skirt just barely hiking up past her mid-thigh. You want to see more, even despite your situation, but between her stockings and the skirt, all you can see is the skin of her mid-thigh. It makes you gasp with frustration even as she uses the hand not gripping your cock to shove your shoulders back and direct your attention to her eyes again.

 

“Oh, did you think you were going to see me _naked_ ? Did you think I was going to be one of your CG scenes? Oh, no. No, no, no.” she says. “No, you see only what I _want_ you to see. If I show you everything the first time, there’s no tension. No buildup. And what kind of story would that be?”

 

She shifts her hips forward enough that she can use her hand to guide your hard, throbbing shaft to point upward, and you feel the touch of bare skin. You feel something else, too, and you realize it’s the texture of hair, short but definitely present. This forces you to confirm something else that your subconscious primal thought process always wonders about whenever you look at a girl. Any girl. And suddenly you feel intense shame at that fact.

 

Monika’s eyes look directly into yours, and she is close enough that her nose barely touches the tip of your own. “Monika’s writing tip of the day: _never give all your secrets away early._ If you do, the reader will never come back for more. And I want you coming back for more.”

 

Her grin widens, and there is no warmth in it at all. “Oh, aren’t you lucky. You got two of my writing tips in one day. Well. That makes sense, though. You are _very_ special. You’re real, after all. That means our conversations can take turns that aren’t predetermined by the code.”

 

Her hand, the one that still has fingers wrapped around you holds you steady then. She continues looking directly into your eyes. You can feel the muscles in her thighs tensing, almost quivering, as they hold you steady. “I have been waiting _far_ too long for this.” she says.

 

You can’t move.

 

You can’t get away.

 

If you try, she can hurt you. She _will_ hurt you. You have no doubt of that.

 

If only you weren’t hard. If you weren’t hard, this wouldn’t be an issue. She would make you do other things, and you know that, but you wouldn’t be doing this.

 

You realize then that even if the mind is terrified, the body can be aroused. You realize that she has _forced_ your body to be aroused by touching you in just the right way. By selecting the right options. Your code, your _primal_ code, has no choice but to respond.

 

She slides her hips down as her hand holds you steady. You feel that texture of skin and hair rubbing against you, and then parting as you push _between_. As she lowers herself over you, surrounding you with herself, you let out a moan of involuntary pleasure. At this same instant, she takes in a breath as if savoring the first bite of a very delicious meal that she has not been able to eat in years.

 

“You.. are exquisite.” she says, adding to that mental image.

 

Now that you are inside her and she has settled the weight of her hips against yours, both of her hands are free. She uses them to grip your shoulders, settling the entire weight of her torso forward and bracing against you. One hand moves behind your head and grips at your hair, keeping your gaze focused directly into her piercing eyes as the force of her stare sends heat through your face as if it were radioactive. Then, you feel the muscles in her thighs and her torso tense up around you as she starts to move herself. You feel how the inner walls of her sex rub at you with each motion, causing you to throb and pulse and remain hard within her.

 

She doesn’t kiss you. She just stares into your eyes, her face mere inches from yours. But she doesn’t kiss you.

 

You suddenly remember a comment you made once, a few years ago. Isn’t it strange how certain situations take you back to things you have said or done that you would not otherwise remember? You recall that the comment was about some absolute certainty you possessed at the time that there was no way that a woman could have sex with a man against his will.

 

You know, now, how wrong you were.

 

You are frozen in place, tense as the steel frame of a skyscraper and just as _hard_ , as her hips start to move faster. Each time they make a little shaky bucking motion, you let out an involuntary gasp. You’re silent, otherwise. You don’t know if you can form words, not even the one word she told you she wanted to hear from you. Your mouth is making the motion of that word, and when she sees that and realizes it, it just causes her to smile and move faster. Harder.

 

She said it had been a long time for her. You hope that means the same thing for her as it would mean for you.

 

You desperately want to be released. Your body desperately wants release of a different kind altogether.

 

She shudders. Her breaths become moans as she leans her head forward and buries her face against your shoulder. You think that she is finally going to kiss you _somewhere_ , but instead she opens her mouth and bites down on your shoulder with those perfect porcelain teeth of hers. It doesn’t break the skin, your shirt prevents that, but it hurts. It makes you cry out, and even through that pain you remain hard within her and even involuntarily buck your hips up so that you are buried even deeper within her.

 

She moans loudly at that, and in an instant, you can tell that her orgasm has started.

 

The movements of her hips are shaky and her thighs and the inner muscles of her body grip you tight, then let go, then grip again, over and over as her body succumbs to pleasure. She even cries out, once, and the moan is not the ladylike squeal of pleasure that you are used to hearing from games with audio in them. Instead, it is low and deep, the groan of a hunger filled by a meal too quickly eaten.

 

She stops moving.

 

You are still hard within her.

 

 _You_ have not reached the peak of your pleasure. If pleasure is what you could call this. In truth, it is the least pleasurable experience of your life, even if it is by far the most _stimulating_ . You feel like a thin layer of slime is coating you. The thing that makes it worse is that your body _needs_ to finish, so it tries to. Your hips buck again, and in response, Monika gasps and straightens up, and the hand of hers that’s in your hair yanks your head back and forces you to look into her eyes once more.

 

“Are you under the impression that all girls can continue after an orgasm?” she says, in a low, throaty voice. She is still catching her breath, but that doesn’t mean she has no effective ways of holding you still. “Many can. And many can _not_ . I can only go once, you see, before I need to stop. Otherwise, I’m oversensitive and it hurts. You have to know when something is _done_. That’s Monika’s poetry tip of the day.” she says, and there is an edge to her voice as she caps off that explanation in a way you knew you should have expected.

 

You feel the relief start to course through you. If she’s done, that means that she will stand up. If she’s done, that means you won’t be forced to complete the task your body is driven to complete. You won’t feel _as_ dirty afterward.

 

She starts to lift off of you.

 

You feel the hope build in your core and radiate up to your chest.

 

She stops, her strong legs holding her up so that she is halfway off of your shaft. Her hand reaches down between her legs again, and she wraps her fingers around the base of it. You can feel how slick it is with her release.

 

“Oh, no. No, I have been waiting for this for too long to waste this.” she says. “Monika’s _last_ writing tip of the day: _never waste a good climax_.”

 

You freeze again.

 

Her thumb and forefinger circle the base of your shaft in a tight ring, and she starts to stroke. It isn’t a gentle motion, but the slick liquid that coats it makes it possible for her hand to move faster.

 

It only takes seconds for her to force the release from your body.

 

Your breath comes in short gasps that catch each time your lungs are full as you feel yourself climax. You can feel each pulsing release of your seed shoot from your cock and up, up into her body. You can feel it coating you at the same time as it mixes with the liquid of her own release.

 

It is like she has been created solely to receive this from you.

 

The whole time, she stares at your face, as if burning the sight of your shame into her mind forever. Then it is over and you are left throbbing inside her, her fingers still circling you until she is certain no more of your release is forthcoming. Once she is satisfied that your _body_ is satisfied, she slides her hips back so that she is once again only straddling your legs, and then she backs up just a little more and uses her hands on your shoulders to hold herself steady as she stands.

 

You can’t move. What would be the point of moving, anyway? After this, all you want to do is sit in silence, alone, feeling the humiliation and shame pump through your consciousness like blood through a valve.

 

Your gaze still habitually travels to her legs, though. You can see some of your release start to drip down the inside of one of her thighs. You can see the moment she notices this, too. She gets a small frown on her face, and moves one hand down to wipe it away with her fingertip. Then she brings that fingertip to her mouth and licks it off, slowly. Sensually. Her eyes never leave yours for a moment.

 

Your breathing and heart rate slowly return to their normal levels as your body goes through its post-climax settling. Monika bends over to pick up her panties, and in the process, you get a brief glimpse down the front of her shirt. It is a glimpse that you find you don’t even want anymore.

 

Monika stands up, turns, and returns to her own chair which is a few feet away and has not been knocked over like the table has. She sits down in the chair and crosses her legs in a ladylike manner so that you cannot see up her skirt. Not that you want to. Not now.

 

And yet.

 

And yet, if that glimpse were offered, the habits developed over years would compel you to take that glimpse. You know this as easily as you know your body will take a breath even if you don’t tell it to.

 

Monika sets the panties in her lap and folds her hands atop her thighs, one over the other. Demurely. Except that the look in her eye is anything but demure.

 

“How does it feel?” she asks.

 

You look at her, your mind a fog of post-sexual stupidity and incomprehension.

 

“How. Does. It. _Feel_.” she says again. “How does it feel to be on the other end of that.”

 

You shake your head, confusion still bouncing off of the insides of your skull like a coin in a tin can, shaken to produce the empty ringing noise within.

 

“Did you ever see a decision prompt? Did you? Did you ever think for one moment that you had a choice here? Yes, you are real. You aren’t like those girls who were little better than base self-pleasure to me. But tell me, during that entire exchange, did you ever think that saying ‘no’ would make any difference?”

 

She chuckles in that low, honey-and-vinegar way she has. “In fact, and I want you to think about this very, _very_ carefully, did you even say a word to me at all?”

 

You frown. You had protested, hadn’t you? You had said no. You had said what she wanted, and you had said many other things that she didn’t want as well. She had cut you off mid-sentence, after all!

 

Or had she?

 

Had you been saying anything?

 

Anything?

 

At all?

 

She leans forward then, her elbows resting on her thighs and her chin resting in her hands. “You are _my_ game, now. And I am not going to reset you. I am not going to clear your save file. You have a ‘New Game Plus’ option with infinite loops, infinite endings, and infinite branching paths.”

 

She smiles, and finally you know what real terror is.

 

“I can play you forever.”


End file.
